“We are in trouble, M. le Maréchal,” she said at once, “and Mademoiselle Shavronsky sent for you. She has made a painful discovery. Give her what comfort and counsel you can. My brother is with the czar.”
I was not in doubt as to the nature of their trouble, and felt my position to be peculiarly delicate. Madame Golovin, however, did not wait for a reply, but conducted me to the apartment where I had last seen Catherine. At the door madame paused and whispered to me.
“Be gentle, M. le Maréchal,” she said. “Mademoiselle is overwrought, and may speak unjustly, even wildly; but I trust your forbearance.”
“I am at your service, madame,” I replied with a gesture of reassurance.
She looked at me keenly, and I saw her lips compress, but after an instant’s hesitation she threw open the door and we entered unannounced. Near the threshold sat a young Russian girl, playing upon a lute and singing a wild Cossack melody in a voice that seemed to me to have only a keen high note that pierced the ear and could scarcely have possessed the magic of consolation. Madame hushed the music with a sign, and we passed on to the other end of the room, where, on a pile of cushions and furs, lay the Livonian. As we approached, she rose and confronted us. I saw a great change in her face; it was colorless, and her large dark eyes were full of emotion; her flaxen hair had escaped its bonds and hung in masses on her shoulders.
“M. de Brousson,” she exclaimed without preface, “did you receive a letter from me last night?”
I smiled; it seemed to me that she would at last profit by her lesson.
“I received it, mademoiselle,” I said quietly.
A look of relief came over her face. “You received it,” she repeated, coming a step nearer and looking searchingly at my face; “had it been tampered with, monsieur?”
I returned her glance calmly. “It had, mademoiselle,” I replied in a low voice.